


Inhuman

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Dean POV, Established Relationship, Grace Sex, Impala Sex, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Plot What Plot, Porn Battle, Rough Sex, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has learned that sex is different when there's an angel involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhuman

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle IX, prompts: Impala, burn, bright, smile, crazed.

Whenever they fuck, it’s almost like being back in the barn of the night they first met. Dean didn’t know what Castiel was, then, but the point was that he, life-long hunter and all-around bad-ass, could feel in his gut that he was in the presence of something that belonged on the farthest end of the spectrum of humanity, more _other_ than any of the spooks and spirits that made up his day job. For the first time in a long time, Dean felt something very close to awe.

A lot has changed since then. Castiel has become Cas, familiar and touchable.

But that doesn’t mean that Dean can forget what he is.

Especially not when Cas is curled before him, on his elbows and knees in the backseat of the Impala. Cas’ forehead is resting on his interlocked hands, almost like in prayer, but there is nothing holy about the breathless noises he’s making, or the way he spreads his legs when Dean pushes in.

“Open up,” Dean says, the words soft but clearly an order. Cas is so tight that Dean’s cockhead is barely past entry, and there’s no way he can get any further unless Cas cooperates. “Let me in.”

Cas’ head tilts a little to the side, like he’s trying to remember how. He’s developed some pretty decent muscle memory over the past few months, but this is still new enough that he has to put in extra effort to get his body to obey.

There’s a soft sound, almost a sigh, and then the muscles loosen and Dean surges forward, sliding in as smooth as summer heat until his hips hit the back of Cas’ thighs.

It’s Dean who groans.

It’s always Dean who groans.

Cas may be panting softly, but there’s no hard line of pain in his body to show that he’d just taken hard cock with barely any prep. He just takes it – he _always_ just takes it, and his response to the sudden penetration is nothing but quiet arousal, dick hanging heavy and red between his legs, then stiffening further in Dean’s hand when he thrusts shallowly a few times.

Dean doesn’t have to ask if Cas is okay.

He _had_ asked the first time they’d done this, but Cas had frowned, confused, until he’d belatedly noticed the way Dean’s body shook when sheathed in the glorious heat of his vessel. Cas had said softly, “You cannot hurt me, Dean.”

And he can’t.

It’s this knowledge that has Dean thrusting deep in no time, picking up a steady pace when he would have otherwise drawn it out and let his partner relax to the intrusion. He doesn’t need to do that here because Cas is already with him, body undulating with his, warm and welcome in a way that Dean never knew was possible.

“Harder, please,” Cas asks politely. When Dean complies he makes a thin, joyful sound.

Someone once told Dean that angels don’t feel the way humans do. They were right.

Castiel can (and has) burned out people’s eyes clear from their skulls by existing. His true voice, supposedly melodious in its praise of Heaven, shatters glass and ear drums. Cas has been punched, kicked, shot, stabbed and thrown through walls, but unless there’s spiritual strength behind it – a demon’s malice or an angel’s intent – he can choose not to register the sensation. Hell, Dean nearly broke his fist on Cas’ chin that one time when he got it in his head that decking an angel would be a good idea.

It’s only because Cas wants this that he can feel any of it.

“Oh, oh, Dean.” Cas’ hands unwind and splay on the trenchcoat lain across the seat underneath them. The fingers twitch, unsure of themselves, and that’s Dean’s cue to press his knees down and snap his hips harder.

He doesn’t have much time. Cas may be bucking back against him now, but he’s nowhere near where Dean wants him to be.

Cas is just moaning softly, coasting on pleasure.

Dean, however, is barely hanging on.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Dean gasps, fingers of one hand stroking Cas’ back while the other works his dick. The flesh along Cas’ ribs is firm but yielding, a thin sheen of sweat evidence that Cas’ control is slipping. “So good, it’s so good. You are… Fuck, Cas.”

Cas groans, shoulders rolling restlessly, and there’s another surge of pleasure deep in Dean’s lower stomach as he’s pulled closer to the edge by some unseen hand. Dean figures it has to do with Cas being what he is. There must be something unearthly and addictive beneath his skin that makes every thrust achingly fierce. Every time Dean pushes in it’s like the first time he’s known such tightness and heat, each second of sensation like the first breath of pleasure his body has ever known.

Every time.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says, voice soft and reverential. Dean almost laughs because the words are nice, but that’s not the sound someone should make while Dean’s dragging his cock sharp and dirty inside, fingers pressing hard against the ridges of Cas’ spine.

“Follow me, Cas,” Dean snarls, rolling his hips. He’s so _close_, thighs starting to shake from the effort, and it’s just not fair that Cas’ dick isn’t hard to bursting the way Dean’s own feels like inside. “Are you with me?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas gasps. “Always.”

Dean bends low over him, hand sliding up from the shoulder blades into Cas’ thick black hair, fingers curling and then pulling so that Cas’ head is drawn back at an angle. Dean hisses against his neck, “Liar.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas groans, whole body shuddering.

Dean has maybe two seconds to be smug about it, because then Cas braces his hands on the seat and shoves _back_, barely-tempered angel strength in movement that has Dean suddenly shoved up against the Impala door.

“Whoa, fuck!” Dean hisses, because now he’s impossibly deep, concentration shot to pieces, and Cas is _still pushing_. “Cas, Cas!”

Dean gets his fingers on the skin beneath Cas’ armpits and twists – should be enough to make any grown man cry out in agony but Cas just sighs, grinding back furiously like he’s forgotten his own strength (again). Dean’s gasping for air, desperately close to coming, so he growls and pushes anywhere he can: Cas’ arms, legs, back, but nothing gives, leaving Cas a solid weight on his lap and _clenching_.

He tries to hold it back, but he’s already being pulled across that razor-sharp place where pleasure burns so bright there’s no choice but to fall. “Damn, Cas, fuck!”

So Dean comes first.

Again.

It’s good. It’s _always_ good, leaving Dean with very little choice but to ride helplessly through it until it’s over and he’s shakily coming back to himself. He can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed about shooting off first anymore, not when he knows what’s going to happen next.

He takes a few slow breaths, then idly knocks his head back against the glass of the window, liking the way his jaw shudders and chases away the post-orgasm cotton in his head.

Cas has turned a little, one eye visible under the moonlight as he watches Dean get his breath back. “I liked that, Dean,” Cas declares solemnly.

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” Dean says, but his tongue trips on its thickness, voice nowhere near as tough as he wants it to be.

Cas makes a soft huffing sound, something close to laughter. “I thought that was the idea.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it.” Dean reaches out, grabbing another handful of Cas’ hair and pulling hard.

This time Cas unfolds himself and rises up, elegance in the S of his spine. Dean pushes forward in the seat now that Cas has remembered himself, and with the shift of position there’s now miles of skin pressed together, Dean’s mouth against the place behind Cas’ ear. Dean gets an arm around Cas’ chest, locking him in place, while the other hand releases his hair and moves down to where Dean’s softening cock slides out, three fingers shoving in to finish the job.

“Yeah, you’re gonna come with me inside you, gonna make sure of that,” Dean promises, fingers sliding easily through the slickness of his come and twisting every which way inside the tight muscle that has Cas writhing against him in no time. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

That’s the other thing about fucking an angel: the kind of sex that Dean’s known all his life is about flesh and blood, but though this human body may be Cas’, that’s not all he is – he is also something vast and unknowable that’s merely wrapped inside this envelope of skin and bones. But luckily for the both of them, Dean now knows what it takes to get an angel off.

Well, besides a really good fucking. Cas _really_ likes a good fucking, but that only gets him down to the final lap. The finishing line needs something extra.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean pauses to bite an earlobe, “How’s it feel?”

Another soft moan, followed by panted breaths. “It feels good, Dean.”

“Tell me,” Dean says, blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of an upper arm.

“Very good.” Cas whines when Dean lets his hand, the one not currently twisting inside Cas’ body, drift down and press against the slit of his cock, which leaks very nicely on to his fingers. Cas’ head leans back on Dean’s shoulder. “You make me feel very good things, Dean.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean pulls his fingers just far out enough of Cas so a fourth can join the party. He brings his voice to a low whisper right against Cas’ ear. “Do you love me?”

Cas cries out, whole body bucking violently against Dean’s.

This isn’t a sap moment – Dean wouldn’t do it if it was. This is how Dean goes inside Cas to where his fingers and dick can never reach, every word out of Dean’s mouth carnal with intent as they press against Cas’ true essence.

“Tell me, Cas,” Dean growls, and Cas jerks at each word like it’s agony. “Tell me right now!”

“I love you, Dean!” Cas’ voice is wrecked, body shaking. “Love you, love you, love you – close your eyes!”

The warning isn’t necessary; Dean knows the signs and his eyes are already closed, face pressed down on Cas’ shoulder.

Cas inhales sharply, and is then silent. There’s a moment where everything hangs, heat and breath suspended heavy in the air, then Cas goes nova.

Dean’s the one who’s screaming now, because he can feel Cas – the _real_ Cas – unfurling from inside his human vessel, and because Dean’s plastered right up against him, that means that Cas is going _through_ him, dragging his own angelic pleasure sharply through every inch of Dean’s flesh.

It doesn’t matter that Dean’s already come. He can feel Cas all around him, tendrils of what he truly is – his essence, his grace, whatever – pushing at Dean’s skin from every direction. Cas is inside him, singing his own joy and delirious bliss against Dean’s nerve endings, and it’s like Dean’s being ripped apart and woven together, every part of him alight and pulsing.

The human body can feel good but that Dean doesn’t know if it’s meant to sustain an orgasm that flares through _every single part of his body_, from the tips of his toes to the skin of his eyelids; intense doesn’t even start to cover it. It’s inhuman.

In this moment Dean always thinks it’s too much – that Cas’ll kill him or drive him crazy, but then the pleasure dims to something more tolerable and he’s flying on it, wave after wave until a thousand breaths later Cas finally pulls back in, leaving Dean nothing more than a man surrounded by sweat and air, shaking helplessly.

Eventually Dean is able to slowly peel his eyes open. The interior of the Impala seems darker than before.

He looks down, registering that he’s leaning back against the seat, hands on his lap, cock and hands clean. Dean has maybe a handful of brain cells still functioning at the moment, and they’re already fuzzily wondering how long it will be before they can do that again.

Cas is sitting next to him, knee warm where it’s pressed against Dean’s. His skin is clean and unmarked, which is a bummer, but Dean’s gotten used to that by now.

“That was very nice, Dean,” Cas says, his smile soft and fond.

Dean’s responding laugh is a little hysterical.


End file.
